Page 4 of Married Off by the Duke
Emma bared her teeth in a wolfish snarl.
“Not like that.”
She let her face relax, then nearly toppled off the seat when her guardian mumbled, “You’re pretty when you smile,” while staring determinedly out the window of the coach. He shifted uncomfortably. “Prettier, I mean.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“An unintentional one, I assure you.”
She didn’t know what to do with a compliment falling from his lips. Since when had he thought her even marginally attractive?
Since never. It was another joke. That’s all.
Several tense minutes passed in silence. Emma kept glancing at Max, trying to make sense of what he’d said. Why did nature bless the most devilish men with the most angelic faces? She could hardly tear her gaze away from the sculpted angularity of his features, even though it pinched her heart to look at him.
A small, stupid part of her preened to think that a man like Max thought her pretty. Emma knew better. She’d seen the kind of women who fawned over him. Dazzling beauties dripping in gemstone jewelry. A duke was a rare catch indeed.
Looking closer at her guardian now, Emma frowned. His Gracelessness appeared pained and faintly green.
“Are you alright?”
“I dislike facing backward in a carriage.” He pressed a fist to his lips. “It makes me ill.”
“Oh.” Emma gasped, startled that her nemesis would admit such frailty. “Switch seats with me. I don’t mind facing the rear.”
“No.” The duke sat straighter. “It isn’t done.”
“Why not?” Emma demanded.
“Because I’m a gentleman. I ride this way. You’re a lady. You ride that way.”
“For pity’s sake.” Lord, save me from stubborn men. “Is this why you’ve refused to accompany me anywhere? Because you get motion sickness riding backward in a carriage?”
Apart from brief excursions, he’d mostly left Emma to her own devices. Sparring with him at mealtimes, oddly enough, had become the highlight of her day.
“I do not get motion sickness. I get…queasy. That’s all.”
“Fine. Molder over there like a turnip, then. Whatever you wish to call it, if you must be sick, please at least do so out the window.”
Beads of sweat broke out on his brow. Oh, dear. He really was feeling ill. Emma experienced a bewildering pang of sympathy for him.
“I insist upon trading places, Your Grace. I promise no one will ever know how your manhood has been compromised by exchanging seats with a woman for a single carriage ride.”
Still, he didn’t move, the obstinate arse.
“Oh, do get up.” Emma seized his hand and tugged. It was like yanking on a piece of meat. The one time she’d been asked to assist in the kitchen at the school, she’d been sent to fetch a ham from storage. She couldn’t figure out how to heft the thing, forcing her to return in shame and admit defeat. Imagine the indignity of losing to a dead pig.
She felt the same things now. When the duke didn’t move, Emma dropped his hand.
“Fine. Be that way. I’m going to make space for you to sit on this side, whether you like it or not.” Emma crouched to keep her balance on the swaying floor and wedged herself onto the seat beside him. Max jerked away.
Of all the awkward silences that had ever existed, this had to be the longest. Heat from his body seeped into her side. He really was an enormous man. Easily a foot taller than she, and muscular beneath the layers of fine silk, cotton, and wool that indicated a man in possession of immense wealth.
Emma had never thought about a man’s shape before it was pressed against her.
“You are…” The duke’s voice sounded strained. Probably from nausea.
“Yes?”
